


Like Real People Do

by death_of_romeo



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-20 10:16:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2425031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/death_of_romeo/pseuds/death_of_romeo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They all had their stories as to why they were here. Gavin was here because one of his best friends suggested it after one too many incidents of the lad setting things aflame. Geoff was here for one too many nights holding to a bottle instead of his wife, Michael was here for one too many outbursts of his anger. Jack was here for one too many occasions of his personality switching to one that was not his own. Everyone had one moment, a day that they could pinpoint precisely as the time that they knew they needed help, the time they realized that they did, in fact, have a problem.</p>
<p>Everyone had a /moment/.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. They Don't Know

**Author's Note:**

> Hooray for mental institute AUs! I had this idea from both my own creativity and reading other fics like it. I hope you enjoy it! x

 They all had their stories as to why they were here. Gavin was here because one of his best friends suggested it after one too many incidents of the lad setting things aflame. Geoff was here for one too many nights holding to a bottle instead of his wife, Michael was here for one too many outbursts of his anger. Jack was here for one too many occasions of his personality switching to one that was not his own. Everyone had one moment, a day that they could pinpoint precisely, as the time that they _knew_ they needed help, the time they realized that they did, in fact, have a problem.

Everyone had a _moment_.

Ryan sighed, the quiet breath of air almost echoing in to the small room that he was supposed to call home. This mental facility was hell, but it was all that he had. He had no family, no one who wanted to deal with loving such a fucking lunatic. He had no steady work, as nobody wanted to hire someone with such an "unstable mind". He didn't have a real home, as the stupid assholes that ran this facility refused to release him on grounds of "uncertain results". He supposed he should be used to it by now, though; it wasn't like any of this was new to him. The uncomfortable scent of disinfectant and medication and _hatred_ , the never-ending hum of the other patients and all of the doctors and nurses, the way the tension hung above him like a dark cloud that would never see the light of day, yeah, maybe some of that was new, but the title of "crazy"? "Insane"? "Mad"? Nah, he had heard all of those before.

That didn't mean they didn't still bother him, though. 

If he could, he would admit that it wasn't the mental illness that bothered him so much as the portrayal and understanding of it by most people. Yes, he did hallucinate, and quite often considering that he was still supposed to be on a regular dose of medication, but he could deal with that much. People labeling him insane as soon as they heard the word "schizophrenic"? Yeah, it was that part that didn't set so well with him. And people wondered why schizophrenics had a tendency to be violent...

His diagnosis, as the doctors had told him before, was paranoid schizophrenia. It was classified by a tendency to be paranoid of others and their true intentions (though the doctors _did_ want to hurt him - this was not paranoia, this was _fact_ ) and frequent hallucinations, usually auditory. This didn't include, though, the various other symptoms of schizophrenia itself. Delusions, hallucinations, disorganized or erratic behavior or speech. 

Basically, it was just a fancier, more scientific approach to calling him crazy.

Which was fine with him, really, it was. He knew that he was crazy. He wasn't denying his insanity, he was just denying the extremity of it. Most people, as soon as they heard of the disorder, cowered away in fear, but he wasn't that dangerous.

Was he?

A knock at the door broke him from his thoughts, tore him away from his philosophical daydreams, and he sat up on the bed, made a quick attempt to look as though he wasn't just staring up at the ceiling and thinking about things much too complex for a supposedly mental human being. 

"Ryan?" a female voice spoke up, and he recognized her as one of the resident nurses in the facility. What her name was, he did not remember. Laura? Lucy? Lindsay? Hm, it was something like that. He wasn't exactly sure, but he did have an idea, though, which was much more than he could say for the figure standing at her side.

Wait...who was this?

"This is Ray. This is the roommate I told you about the other day." she continued on, and he just nodded. Sure, yeah, of _course_ he remembered that conversation. Why wouldn't he? It wasn't like he was schizophrenic, it wasn't like he was on medication nearly all day. It wasn't like _they_ weren't bothering him or anything like that, nah. 

"Hi, nice to meet you." he replied, _forced_ himself to reply, as he moved up off of the bed, stepped towards the pair. The nurse smiled a hopeful smile, and after reminding the new man - _Ray, his name was Ray_ \- of his appointment set for the following day, she disappeared back in to the hallway. 

Ray shut the door behind her, his hand lingered on the door knob for a split second longer than it should, and for a moment, Ryan hoped to God that the lad wasn't planning anything he would regret.

"Soo...you're the new roommate, huh?" he spoke up, again forcing himself to speak, as he walked back to his own bed. He tried to ignore the voices in his head that were warning him of this man, reminding him to not trust the boy because just _look at him, he can't be trusted, he's evil, he wants to **kill** you, Ryan!_

"Yep." the lad replied, moving to put his bags down on his own bed. Ryan watched him carefully, but not _too_ carefully; he wasn't going to creep the man out. Not yet, anyway. 

"Well, welcome to the hellhole that is the Dianoia Mental Health Facility." he commented, off-handedly and as casually as he possibly could because, really, he couldn't care less about this place. He was being forced to stay here so, yeah, maybe he wasn't the best first glimpse at the facility in the world.

Ray didn't seem to notice nor care, however, as the lad just shrugged the comment off and continued to go about unpacking all of his things. 

This did not help the voices inside of Ryan's head, those that were screaming at him to leave the boy alone, to _keep talking to him, to kill him, Ryan, **kill him!**_

He did not want to do that.

He sighed again, released a quiet, albeit frustrated sigh, in to the still small room that he - _they_ \- were supposed to be calling home.

Fuck, was this going to be a bad day. 

 


	2. Arsonist's Lullaby

"Michael?" a voice, one that he recognized and _knew_ , rang through his ears, shot through his mind. He thought, for a moment, that he was just hearing things, that it was only just another of many hallucinations that he experienced. It wouldn't be the first time he heard a familiar voice from the emptiness that was his hallucination-riddled head. It was only when he heard the voice again, a persistent inquiry of "Michael, what's wrong?", that he realized that maybe this was all real, after all. 

He looked across the seating area in the large, open recreational room of the facility, watched one of the men he called his friends (loose term, roughly translating to "people he could actually tolerate in this damned place") poke another in the chest lightly, a smile that gleamed of hope, and happiness, and _love_ , spread across the boy's face as the one he poked glared at him with an expression of half annoyance, half appreciation. Well, on second thought, perhaps it was 75% annoyance, 25% appreciation. Or maybe 90%, 10%...

A quiet, almost inaudible whisper of "nothing, Gav, it's fine" was heard from the receiver of the poking - Michael, as Ryan remembered - and it was then that he realized that, yes, this was all real. He knew this, didn't he? He remembered showing up, remembered telling his friends good morning, remembered Ray being gone when he woke up. He remembered not taking his medication. 

"Hey, Ryan?" a voice asked him, and it took just one glance to his friends to realize that the voice was the same one from before. Gavin's, as Ryan knew all too well. The tone sounded casual, but that still didn't stop the man from thinking that maybe the pair was already annoyed with him. Had he been zoning out again? Surely not, right?

He hummed in response, ignoring the voices in his head that were telling him to _leave these idiots alone, they don't want to be with you, Ryan, they **hate** you!_

"How come clouds are white?" Gavin continued on, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his friend was hearing voices that were not real, conversations that did not exist. Seemingly oblivious to the fact that the man he was trying to talk to wasn't listening to _him_ , wasn't paying attention to _him_ , but was instead listening to the voices inside of his head, those that were telling him that _god, this guy is so dumb, why do you even bother with him, why does he even bother with **you**?_

Ryan could not answer that question.

He honestly didn't know _why_ Michael and Gavin liked to spend time with him so much. He figured it was only because their other friends - Geoff, Jack - could not. Geoff was always busy with therapy, or solitary confinement for breaking the facility's rules ~~again~~ , or just not wanting to waste his time on these two bumbling idiots. Jack couldn't be with them all the time for similar reasons, though his rule breaking tended to just be guilty by association. Jack was a nice man, much nicer than Ryan; if Geoff (or any of the lads, really) asked for his help, you could bet good money that he would agree to it. Ryan, on the other hand, was a much more difficult mind to persuade. 

He supposed that was because his mind was so far gone.

~~_What mind?_ ~~

"Rye?" a voice spoke up, the tone more persistent, more worried, but he didn't hear it. No, but what he _did_ hear was 

_(They're only using you.)_   
_(They don't like you; they **hate** you!)_   
_(Why don't you just **kill** them already?)_

"Ryan?" the same voice asked again, the tone only of worry now. The air seemed to change then, that feeling of eerie anticipation of the unknown moving in and hanging above the trio like a dark cloud that they could not hide from. Ryan could feel that much. He _knew_ what they were doing, he _knew_ that the voices were trying to fuck everything up again. He did not want this to happen, though. Michael and Gavin, they liked him. God damn it, they _cared_ about him; he couldn't have an episode, not here, not now. Even if his friends would get him help, even if they would understand; they wouldn't. They _couldn't_. 

"Rye, please, you're scaring me." Gavin spoke up a third time, his voice softer this time, more fragile. Unbeknownst to Ryan, the lad was now sitting much closer to Michael, seeking solace and safety at his best friend's side. Ryan always figured the two would end up much closer than just friends, but now was not the time to think of whatever the future may hold. He needed to focus on the present, the here, the now. He needed to focus.

"I..." he replied, surprised by the sound of his own voice. He forgot, sometimes, that he had a voice of his own, that he could speak up and communicate with those around him. He forgot that he was real sometimes, honestly. "...sorry." he paused, looked to his friends, made eye contact with a very worried Gavin Free. The lad just nodded, a sign that he understood, to the best of his ability, what had just occurred. Ryan didn't care to inform his friends of the facts or inner workings of his mind, he only wanted them to understood why he zoned out sometimes, why he seemed preoccupied or distracted at times. He only wanted them to _know_.

"So who was that guy with Lindsay yesterday?" Michael finally commented, a much appreciated change of topic erasing a bit of the uneasiness that had found its way around the trio. Gavin just questioned it, asked who he was talking about, _what_ he was talking about because _what, some guy was with Lindsay yesterday?_

"Ray." Ryan replied simply at first, not knowing much of what else to say. He had to continue, though, had to add more because _what, that's **it**?_ "He's my roommate now. He showed up yesterday." 

"Roommate?" Gavin chirped. _Oh God_ , Ryan thought, _please don't be excited. **Please**_. He knew how the lad was, he knew that the man got excited at the mention of any sort of socializing. Ryan liked to pretend that the lad didn't see an opportunity to make friends with Ray already. He knew it was a lie, but he still liked to pretend. "That's great! Ooh, he's going to like you a lot, Rye."

_Oh no_ , he thought again. Ray won't like him. This much was already known, though, wasn't it? If last night's encounter was any indication, then he and the new roommate weren't going to have that much of a friendship at all. Yes, that still didn't stop Gavin from being excited over the prospect of a new friend, of _Ryan_ having a new friend, of their group being plus one new member, but it only took one comment from Michael, one "So what's he in for?" to shut the Brit down and change the topic once more. Ryan silently thanked whatever God was up above for that. 

"Don't know." he replied, ignoring the _he's not crazy like you, is he?_ comment that rang through his head soon after. "We haven't really had that much conversation so far." 

"Oh." this time it was Michael replying and keeping the conversation afloat. It was a nice change from Gavin's incessant excitement, after all. "Well did Lindsay say anything about it?"

He shook his head, a silent no in response to Michael and a silent _please, shut the fuck up, I'm trying to be **sane** for once_ thought of his own running through his head in response to the voices within it. They didn't want to listen to him, though, they never did; that still didn't stop him from trying, though, and try, he did. Over and over and _over_ again, he tried. _Leave me alone, shut the hell up, go **away** , **get out of my head**!_

"Well, maybe it's nothing too bad." Gavin chimed in, the definition of "bad" being relative and, as far as Ryan was concerned, irrelevant to the subject at hand. How could one mental illness be worse or better than another? They were all horrible experiences; no disorder was better than another, no illness was worse than any other. They were all sick, they all needed help. 

Ryan wanted to scream, wanted to tell Gavin that _no_ , he was _wrong_ , that they were all bad and how on _Earth_ could he say one was worse than another?

He couldn't do this, though. He instead chose to just shrug in response, to just ignore the man's comment. 

Secretly, though, he did hope that whatever was wrong with Ray wasn't so bad. 

Secretly, he wished that Ray was _normal._  


	3. there's something so tragic about you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Thank you guys so much for all of the kind words and kudos on this piece. You guys are the best! x))

Ray had been a part of this facility for about two days now, and yet, Ryan didn't know but a handful of things about him; his name was Ray, he was here for some sort of behavioral problem, must have been, because Lindsay treated him differently than she did, say, himself. She treated Ryan as if he was crazy, insane. She treated him as if he was a lost cause, but Ray, Ray was treated as though he just had one minor little tick that _just so happened_ to be affecting him negatively. This thought bothered Ryan just a fair bit, but he wouldn't hold it against the man; after all, it wasn't Ray's fault that he was crazy.

It was Ray's fault, however, that they both were just alone in their room at eight in the morning on a Tuesday. 

He had seen the lad tossing and turning all night, not being able to sleep. The creepy side of his mind wanted to go and comfort him, remind him _that this place isn't as bad as it looks_ , tell him that _everything is going to be okay._ The logical part of his mind advised otherwise, reminded him that _hey, that would be creepy_. Inevitably, he decided to just let the man be; it wasn't his place to comfort a complete stranger who couldn't sleep in a mental health facility. He was just another patient. He was a lunatic, he had no business acting like any other sane human being. He had no place caring for Ray. 

As the sun began to rise, Ryan decided that maybe he should try to calm the lad down and get him to sleep at least a little bit. It was the least he could do. 

But Ryan was not going to purposely pry in to his new roommate's reasons for being admitted in to a mental health facility. He found that to be extremely distasteful and, honestly, just a little bit rude. So no, he was not going to try to dig in to the man's past experiences that led up to his admittance in to the Dianoia Mental Health Facility. He would, however, ask about the guy's _current_ experiences, because fuck, what else was there for mentally ill people to talk about aside from mental illness and its many methods of treatment?

"Rough night, huh?" he asked, forced himself to start a conversation with the lad so as to ease whatever tension was emanating from his side of the room. He watched as the man turned in the bed, moved to face the complete opposite side as Ryan. _Yeah, because a wall is a much better view_, he thought to himself, but decided to keep that comment inside rather than to voice out loud. "Ah, I remember my first night here. It wasn't fun, I can tell you that much." he reflected, remembering the screams he heard in his own mind that night. Remembering how _they're watching you, Ryan, they're going to **kill** you_ was the norm back then, how _you're pathetic, you're weak, you're **insane**_ became the norm as time went on. 

He sighed quietly, barely even audible, before he continued.

"Hey, look. Maybe talking will wear you out and you can get some rest." he suggested, and he watched as, a few moments later, the lad shifted in bed, turned to now face Ryan instead of the plain and lifeless wall he had been facing just a few seconds before.

"What do you wanna talk about?" he heard the man say, his dark eyes soft and tired and maybe afraid, but Ryan wasn't so sure. 

He smiled a small, faint smile, before replying, "I don't know. The weather? The impending political collapse of the modern world? The inevitable arrival of extra-terrestrials that only want a taste of the supposedly amazing Earth food we call pizza?" 

He got an amused smile out of the complete stranger in the bed across the room, and that was all that he really wanted. 

"Really? Pizza?" the lad asked, and this brought the smile back to Ryan's face; _oh, this was going to be fun_.

The two spent the next hour bantering back and forth, discussing the strange topic of aliens on the quest for pizza. It was weird, yes, but it at least distracted the two from whatever mental illness was going on in their head. For Ryan, it helped to drown out the voices, the occasional sounds that he heard that had no root in reality. For Ray, well, he wasn't quite sure _what_ it did for Ray. But he must have had a problem, considering his placement in a mental health facility. The specifics didn't really matter right now, though; what mattered right now was trying to wear him out and get him to sleep. Ryan wasn't too worried about the man, not really, not yet, but he still wanted the guy to get some sleep. He knew from experience that not sleeping was not a good idea. He was only trying to help the guy out.

He was only trying to be a good person. 

_(You're not a good person.)_   
_(You're a horrible person.)_   
_(He **hates** you, Ryan.)_

When Ray yawned mid-sentence, Ryan suggested that perhaps it was time to end the conversation and let the man finally get some rest.

When Ray just watched him, a curious expression on his face, Ryan began to worry.

"You alright?" the lad asked, and it took a couple of seconds for Ryan to fully grasp and understand the question. 

_Wait, why is he asking me this?_

"Yeah," he replied, just trying to avoid the topic, just trying to ignore the fact that he was very obviously being annoyed by the voices inside of his own head. "Just get some sleep, alright? You need it."

Ray just shrugged it off, an act of _whatever, I was just trying to help_ and _why can't I help?_

Ryan thanked whatever god was up above for the fact that Ray did not pester him further about it. 

 


	4. all you have is your fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( I'm so glad people like this fic as much as I do. Just a heads-up, the parenthesis that are stroked through are his own thoughts, while the ones that aren't stroked through aren't his own thoughts. Thank you guys again for all of the positive feedback on this piece! x ))

The plan was for Ray to get some sleep. He didn't mean to get distracted by the sounds that only he could hear, he didn't mean for Ray to notice. 

He didn't mean to look crazy.

When the lad shifted around in bed, curled in to the blankets and relaxed beneath them, Ryan decided that perhaps he should just get out. Maybe if he left the room, had some time away from the man and was able to collect himself then maybe, just maybe, that would never happen again. It wouldn't change anything, it wouldn't erase the memory from his roommate's mind, but it would at least distract the attention away from it. 

_(There's no sense in trying to run.)_   
_(He knows you're crazy, Ryan.)_   
_(They **all** know.)_

He needed an escape. He decided that perhaps he should just go to the recreational room, try to reconcile whatever sense and sanity was left in his head. If any of his friends were there, fine, but if not, he didn't care. He didn't care either way, honestly. Either he was going to be surrounded by the idiots he called his friends, men who were admitted in this place just like he was, or he was going to be left with the voices in his head, hallucinations that he was apparently stuck with. Either way, it would more than likely lead to him being _annoyed out of his god damn mind_ , but eh. That was a daily occurrence, really. 

Hearing Gavin Free bickering and arguing with Michael Jones, however, was not a daily occurrence.

"I wasn't doing anything wrong!" he heard the Brit declare in a hushed, aggressive whisper. "I was just minding my own damn business and they dragged me back in and took away my lighter!" 

"Gav, they probably just didn't-"

" _But they did!_ " the boy continued. "They told me that I couldn't go outside anymore. But I don't even have a reason to go outside anymore because _they took my bloody lighter, Michael!_ " 

At this point, Ryan decided that eavesdropping from near the door was not going to remain a viable solution to anything. He finally entered the recreational room, approached the pair and tried, honestly, to not make it obvious that he had heard everything. But Michael, Michael gave him that _look_ , that sort of glance that said _oh shit, you heard all of that, didn't you?_

Ryan just nodded before taking a seat across from the two.

Gavin seemingly caught sight of the exchange, as he fell quiet and just looked from Michael to Ryan, his silent expression screaming _I'm not crazy, Ryan, but something is **wrong** with me._

"Rough night?" he asked, trying to be calm and casual about the entire situation. Mostly, he was just trying his best to not get himself worked up over the fact that one of his closest friends was being mistreated. He already had enough going on with Ray; the last thing that he needed was to get annoyed and bothered by _both_ of the lads. 

Judging by Michael's almost-glare, he supposed that maybe now wasn't the time to talk about it. 

An unsettling silence settled between them then. Ryan watched as Michael shot glances to the man at his side every two or three seconds, and a twinge of jealousy shot through him at the thought of the two being closer than friends. Finding love in a mental health facility was practically _unheard of_. A lunatic of any kind, whether it be by schizophrenia, or pyromania, or bipolar disorder, or an error in behavior, did not deserve _love_ , they deserved _sanity_. They deserved to be _normal_. God owed them at least _that_ much, did He not?

But Ryan wouldn't think like that, not now. He would just be here as support for whatever was going on, no matter the details of it. That was what he did for everybody; stick around for moral support. He did it for Michael, did it for Geoff, and Jack, and Gavin, and-

"Hey, isn't that the guy that was with Lindsay the other day?" Gavin asked, his attention towards the door where, sure enough, Ray was just entering the room. A quick flurry of thoughts

~~_(Oh god, what's he doing here?)_ ~~   
~~_(What do I do?)_ ~~   
~~_(Why **now**?)_ ~~

shot through Ryan's mind as he mirrored and matched the direction of his friend's gaze. His eyes met those of his roommate's, still tired, and soft, and maybe scared, but Ryan still couldn't be so sure. What he _could_ be sure of, though, was the fact that Gavin was trying to motion for the man to come and join them. _If I was Ray, I'd run_ , he thought to himself, but despite that unspoken confession, he still gave a somewhat friendly, somewhat _don't mind this idiot_ , somewhat _come make this interaction bearable_ wave to his roommate who, thank the lord up above, actually started to head their way. He muttered something, a quiet, nearly inaudible _who are these people?_ , a phrase that stood between the line of joking and authentic. Ryan gave a faint smile in return and, as the lad sat down next to him

~~_(He's took close, oh god, he's too **close**.)_ ~~

he looked back to the pair sitting across from them. Michael was just watching, presumably fighting back the urge to just leave. He couldn't do that, though, because Gavin was watching Ray like a little puppy that had just seen _another_ little puppy for the very first time. 

"So _you're_ Ray!" the Brit burst out, a smile gleaming across his face. It was a refreshing sight after the argument that occurred earlier, but it was still just a tad bit unsettling that this smile was the result of a new patient showing up to the facility. Mental health was not something meant to get excited over, it was something that was meant, at its core, to cause pain, to cause suffering. There was nothing fun about it, and Ryan fucking _knew_ that, but he couldn't rant about it. Not now, not here. Instead, he would just watch as the man at his side offered a small, slightly awkward smile because _fuck, what do they already know about me?_

"Yep." he replied, and although the lad was trying his damned _best_ to not seem awkward or lost, Ryan could still see it. He could still see that little fire in the man's eyes, that small spark that was fighting to stay lit because _no, I have to act like I care_ , because _no, I can't be rude_. Unbeknownst to Ryan, this fire also struggled to stay burning and bright because _fuck, Ryan, help me out here_ , because _fuck, Ryan, I was looking for you, not all of these people_ , because _fuck. **Ryan**._

"Uh, Ray, meet Gavin and Michael." he spoke up, being sure that he was a part of the conversation. Not to protect Ray, no, but just to make sure that the man had some back-up in all of this. After all, being confronted by an excited Gavin Free was a very frightening thing, indeed...

"I'm Gavin." the Brit commented before pointing to the red-head seated next to him. "And this is Michael." 

The aforementioned red-head gave a quick wave, a small smile, and rolled his eyes in a way that was anything but annoyed. 

Ryan envied him.

~~_(Why can't **we** be like that?)_ ~~

The trio seated around him began to hold light conversation among each other, but Ryan was fixated on his own mind. That last thought, that simple, curious question that had just jotted through his thoughts as if it had somewhere to be, as if it didn't want to be noticed. But it _did_ , because he was still thinking on it, still trying to figure out _why_ he had just mentally referred to himself and Ray as _we_ , why-

_(You're crazy, Ryan, that's why.)_

No. Insanity had nothing to do with this. Did it? 

_(You know you're crazy.)_   
_( We know you're crazy.)_   
_( **They** know you're crazy.)_

He shook his head, looked down. They were wrong; these were his friends. Michael, and Gavin, and now Ray. They were his _friends_. They didn't think that he was crazy. They all had problems, they all had their own personal reasons for being here. They didn't judge each other. They _cared_ for each other. They-

"Ryan?" he heard a voice - Ray, it was Ray - call his name, but he didn't respond. He just continued looking down, continued trying to block out the voices inside of his head because _no, no, you can't ruin this for me, you **can't**. _

"He'll be okay." another voice - Michael this time - commented. "He does this sometimes."

"That doesn't mean it isn't scary." a third voice - this time it was Gavin - chimed in. "Don't worry, X-Ray. He's fine. Aren't you, Rye?" 

_(See? They know you're insane.)_   
_(They're even telling Ray about it!)_   
_(Why don't you just get **rid** of them already?)_

This time, Ryan forced himself to look up, to glance to Michael and Gavin first. He gave them the same old glance as he always did when these things happened, the sort of glance that screamed _they're back, they're here, they want me to **kill** you._  

Michael nodded, took Gavin's hand (which was a new sort of intimacy that Ryan had never seen between the two before, but he couldn't focus on that right now because _damn it, leave me alone, **get out of my head!**_ ), and stood up. 

"See you tomorrow." the lad murmured, the smallest sign of disappointment, and worry, and _pity_ in his words. Gavin followed suit, offering a wave and a nearly inaudible _feel better, Rye_ , before being dragged away by his best friend. 

It became quiet, frighteningly quiet. His mind was still a whirlwind of voices and thoughts that were not his own, but the recreational room itself remained quiet.

For a moment, Ryan forgot that Ray was still sitting right beside him.

That was until he heard a voice come from the figure at his side, the tone soft, hushed, coated in emotions that Ryan did not want to recognize right now.

" _Are you okay?_ " 


	5. To Be Alone

No.

No, he was not okay. He was the exact _opposite_ of okay. He couldn't focus, couldn't pay attention. He was slipping again, he could feel them taking the reigns, he could feel them taking over. He could feel them _winning_. He could feel the hatred, the poison in their tones even though god _damn_ it, they didn't _exist_. He could feel the world around him twisting, turning, molding in to land that his mind wanted, that _they_   wanted, to torture him with. It was crazy, fuck, he _knew_ it was crazy, but he couldn't _help_ it! He couldn't-

" _Ryan?_ " 

The same voice that asked if he was okay before called out his name, and it only took a few seconds for him to realize that _it's right next to me, it's Ray, he's still **here**. _

~~_Why's he still here?_ ~~

He ignored the sound, _instead_ keeping his focus down. He didn't want to look over at the boy, didn't want to be reminded that _he's watching me break down, he's watching me lose my mind_. God, did Ryan hate that thought. Ray was new to all of this. He didn't know about why Ryan was here, or why the administrators in this place kept taking his roommates away from him because _I'm sorry, Ryan, but you're a danger to those around you_. This was the first time in months that they had allowed the man to have a roommate, and he was already fucking everything up. It was to be expected, he supposed. After all, it was only inevitable that he would have a mental breakdown and scare the new kid away. What had it been, two days? A solid two days, and here he was, losing control of his own damn mind. Here he was, forcing himself to keep his focus down, away from any sort of distractions and escapes. The voices inside of his head, they didn't want him to find a way out. They wanted him to remain at their command. 

They wanted him to stay crazy. 

"Sorry." he finally muttered, the abrupt sound coming suddenly. The simple word sounded rough, frightened. Broken. He hated the sound, knew that if it startled him, then it must have terrified Ray. He decided to try again, to push his mind away from the hallucinations that swarmed it and to maybe get a grip on reality and the real world that surrounded him, even though _you're crazy, Ryan_ , and even though _he hates you, they all hate you,_ and even though _he's going to **kill** you, Ryan! _

Ray wouldn't do that. Ray wouldn't kill him. Ray wasn't a murderer. 

Right?

Maybe it would be best to not take any chances, though. Playing it safe seemed like the best course of action. At least that way, he wouldn't be getting himself in to anything that could potentially end his life; he had too much stuff left to do, he couldn't die just yet. He decided to side with that thought, believing in its lies and knowing that if _he hates me, he'll kill me._ Ray didn't look like much of a killer, but in his blinded paranoia, Ryan supposed that was exactly what the man _wanted_ him to think. Ray must have _wanted_ him to believe in that innocent, confused, cute (although Ryan wouldn't admit it) facade. Ray must have _known_ that he would crawl in to the gent's mind and curl up inside of it like a tumor he could not remove. 

Ray must have planned this all along.

Ray must have-

" _Do I need to get a nurse?_ " 

Again, the lad's voice echoed behind the nonexistent voices, a thin veil of hope draped over the darkness that was the inner workings of his mind. Ryan didn't want to hear it, didn't want to listen to that stupid voice anymore. For the first time in his life, Ryan wished for nothing more than for the voices in his head to take over, to drown out the hell-hole he called this world and to make him forget about the horrors of reality.

For the first time in his life, Ryan Haywood _wanted_ to be crazy. 

He didn't, however, want the medication that came along with a nurse coming to get him. They would sedate him, dope him up and take him away to solitary. He just _knew_ it. He didn't like solitary, didn't like the silence that echoed through that small room. 

He didn't like being alone. 

"No." he spoke up once more, trying to get a better handle on reality and on his own voice. Words were wanting to escape him, but _no_ , he needed to decline the inquiry about getting a nurse. He needed to explain what was going on, too, he figured, but what if Ray wanted to kill him? What if the voices inside of his head were right, after all? What if this man wasn't as innocent, or confused, or cute (well...) as Ryan first imagined? God, did he hate that thought. God, did he-

_"Are you sure? They can probably help y-"_

"They can't." he interjected, ignoring the sound of his own abrupt and defensive paranoia. it scared him, frightened him beyond belief that his own mind was making him believe that Ray was some sort of sick and twisted murderer. There was no way that was the truth, it was probably miles and miles away from it, but he couldn't help but consider the possibility of it. He couldn't help but think of the chance, the tiny, off chance, that Ray was evil, that Ray was demented, and dark, and that he had no other wish in the world but to kill him. Right here, right now, to take his life and to move on.

Ryan did not want to die today.

"Just...just leave it alone, alright?" he continued, his focus still on the floor, his gaze refusing to float up to the lad seated at his side because _he's evil, Ryan, he's going to kill you, Ryan, he's **crazy!**_

The room fell silent for a moment. It was only for a minute or so, but Ryan would defend that it felt like years, millenniums passing by him at the speed of light because _he's crazy, he's evil, he wants to kill you, he doesn't care about you, he's a **psychopath!** He's **insane**! He's a god damn **lunatic**!_

After a bit, Ray finally spoke up.

" _Do you wanna go back to the room? I can help you, maybe..._ "

_(Help? You? He can't help you!)_   
_( **Nobody** can help you!)_   
_(You're **helpless** , Ryan!)_

No.

"Yeah...we should do that." he replied slowly, steadily. He forced himself to look up, to glance over to the lad and to look at him, to really, really look at him; he didn't look evil. He didn't look like a murderer of any sort, but _that's just what he wants you to think, Ryan._

Ray must have noticed this glance, this expression that silently begged to be proven wrong. He must have noticed the sparks in his roommate's eyes, the way they bore a hole in to his soul because _jesus christ, Ryan, stop staring at me like that_. He must have noticed, as the next thing that occurred was him standing up, outstretching his hand and offering it to his friend. 

" _Come on. Let me help you._ " 

 

 

 

 


End file.
